It's been a busy year for me so far
in all respects, but it
's been particularly packed with theatre,
having appeared in three shows since February. It's always a bit of a let-down when a show is over, but in particular, my last two shows, Assassins, with
, and then Spamalot, the
in which I played the Lady of the Lake (and which closed its sold out run last night), were fantastic experiences with great casts, and the end of each production has caused some major post-performance blues. It's tough s
aying good bye to people you'
ve become used to seeing every day - yes, you'll see each other again, but
it's never the same, and the i
-jokes become a little stale as time goes by
, and you each join other casts and bond with new people.
So how does one get over that? There are a few tried and true methods:
1) Lots and lots of gin at the cast party on Closing Night. That way, the next day you are too hung over to feel anything but, well, hung over. Beware, though - you walk a fine line between a "comfortable" hangover - meaning one where the effects can be somewhat easily remedied by McDonald's and re-runs of Buffy - and wretched misery the next day. This was my chosen method for Assassins and worked out quite well, except for the miserable 9 a.m. walk back to our party location to pick up my Modo car the next morning.
2) Abject wallowing. Sleep in, refuse to get out of your PJs or brush your hair, re-live the "glory days" on Facebook, eat Goldfish crackers incessantly and talk to your cat. This is what I've done today, as I only had one (!) scotch on the rocks at our Spamalot hijinx last night.
I think my mom suspected that the post-show blues would be kicking in and acted accordingly. She and my dad were here this weekend to see the show, and she quietly left a bottle of her perfume, which she has worn my whole life and which I refer to as "Momma smell," on my vanity, next to my own signature scent:
Sometimes a girl just wants a hug from her mom, and when that isn't possible, well, at least she can SMELL her mom.
The bright side of this whole shows-ending thing is that my roommate and common-law kitty is extremely pleased to have me at home:
I know I'm just being my melodramatic self, and I'll be fine (meaning highly functional though melodramatic) tomorrow. But I'm having a good old fashioned sulk tonight while watching UK police procedurals in my jammies. There may even be gin involved.